Loveliest flower was I to see, In the garden of Gethsemane.
My head erect, my pure white face
Such a delight for all to embrace.
For all who entered the garden gate,
I’d boldly lift my head and wait’Til they gazed upon my beauty fair.
All who came would see me there.
On the night before he was crucified, Jesus entered.
He passed me by. He wept and prayed in silence there.
All my friends bowed their heads in prayer.
In pity and sorrow they gathered round, Except for me.
I could not be found. I would not join in.
I was much too proud. Bow my lovely head?
No, I would not allow! News spread quickly, the very next day.
All ’round the garden, I heard everyone sayJesus was going to be crucified.
Oh, I wanted to run. I wanted to hide!
I’d been much too vain to hang my head low,
That first Good Friday; long, long, ago.
I would not join the others who prayed with our King.
Now, how can I bear such a sorrowful thing?
No longer will I proudly face the sun.
My head will hang lowly, ashamed of what I’ve done.
My blossom forever will down turned be,
In honor of Jesus; at Gethsemane.